PS 
3517 
R88 
W3 


IC-NRI 


WARRIOR 

THE 
UNTAMED 

The  Story 


of  an 

Imaginative 
Press  Agent 


WILL  IRWIN 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

DAVIS 

GIFT  OF 

THE  PIERCE  FAMILY 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 


^***^~^*^-*~ 

But  the  parachute  opened  at  last 


WA  R  R I O  R 
THE    UNTAMED 

The  Story  of  an  Imaginative 
Press  Agent 

By 
WILL  IRWIN 


Illustrations  by  F.  R.  Gruger 


NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
MCMIX 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY   OF  CALIFORNIA 


ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED,  INCLUDING  THAT  OF  TRANSLATION 
INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 


Copyright,  1909,  by 
DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

Published,  September,  1909 


Copyright,  1908,  by  The  Curtis  Publishing  Company 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"But  the  parachute  opened  at  last" 

Frontispiece 

Facing 
page 

"I  saw  an  automobile  just  rear  up  on 

its  hindlegs  and  pause  there"  .       %% 

"Old   gentlemen   went  up  telegraph 

poles  like  cats" 30 

"  '  You  git  up  off  them  flowers,  you 

lazy  beast!9 1  says  to  him"    .     .     40 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

Concerning  planted  stories,  those  you 
think  best  of  never  land  at  all,  and 
those  you  never  give  a  second  thought 
bring  you  twenty  columns  and  a  raise. 
There  are  stories  that  you  plant 
expecting  you  '11  have  to  stand  off  the 
reporters  like  you  shrunk  from  hated 
publicity,  and  all  you  draw  is  a  stick 
in  the  news  columns  and  an  editorial  — 
no  names  —  about  disgusting  modern 
advertising  methods.  Again,  you  plant 
a  foolish  story  when  your  head  is  packed 
with  mush.  Zip!  You  're  in  the  maga- 
zines. So  it  was  with  this  perambu- 
lating plant. 

We  could  n't  seem  to  make  Paradise 
Park  go.     You  know  Paradise  ?     Down 
s 


4  WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

on  the  South  Shore  of  Massachusetts  — 
all  cheap  shows  —  a  dime  where  they  'd 
bring  a  quarter  at  Coney.  It  calls  for 
big  crowds,  or  nothing  doing  in  the  way 
of  profits.  I  never  drew  the  pipe  so 
hard  in  my  life  as  I  did  that  summer, 
but  every  time  I  started  anything  it  fell 
down.  I  planted  a  runaway  elephant. 
The  coon  with  the  boathook  lost  him, 
and  he  ate  up  an  apple  orchard,  and  the 
newspapers  did  n't  bite,  and  the  farmer 
sued  us  for  damages.  I  planted  a  love 
affair,  with  a  proposal  in  mid-air,  between 
Naida,  Queen  of  the  Empyrean,  and 
Altair,  the  Peerless.  The  Boston  man- 
aging editors  inspected  it  over  their 
glasses  and  asked  in  a  Harvard  accent 
if  I  thought  they  'd  stoop  to  New  York 
methods.  I  got  plumb  foolish  with  de- 
spair and  left  a  veil,  a  pair  of  old  gloves 
and  a  lace  hat  beside  the  Frog  Pond 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED  5 

on  Boston  Common.  With  them  I  put 
a  circular  of  the  show  on  which  I  had 
written:  "All  the  joy  of  life  was  in  that 
sylvan  spot,  but,  alas,  it  came  to  me  too 
late!"  The  copper  who  found  my  lay- 
out worked  once  with  a  circus,  and  he 
piped  off  the  desk  sergeant  that  it  was 
a  plant.  The  sergeant  passed  it  over 
to  the  newspapers  just  like  that,  and 
next  morning  the  papers  said  in  a  stick 
and  a  half  that  it  was  doubtless  a  sensa- 
tional attempt  to  advertise  a  certain 
amusement  park.  Bo,  I  was  in  bad. 

When  in  doubt,  play  the  lions.  I  began 
to  wonder  whether  I  could  n't  do  some- 
thing with  old  Warrior,  the  Untamed 
King  of  the  Jungle.  This  Warrior  — 
he  's  dead  now,  rest  his  dear  old  hide! 
—  was  about  as  motheaten  and  decrepit 
as  a  lion  ever  gets.  When  our  story 
opens  he  had  recently  dropped  his  last 


6  WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

• 

tooth.  At  half -past  four,  when  the  pub- 
lic was  invited  to  see  the  animals  fed, 
we  used  to  fire  in  his  leg  of  mutton  to 
Warrior.  After  he  'd  sucked  all  the 
juice  out  of  it,  his  keeper  would  sneak 
in  at  the  back  door  of  the  cage  and  bring 
the  Untamed  a  bucket  of  beef  gruel  just 
to  keep  his  poor  old  soul  and  body 
together. 

'T  would  bring  the  tears  to  your  eyes, 
he  was  that  affectionate  and  grate- 
ful over  any  such  little  attention.  He  'd 
stop  eating  any  time  to  have  his  ears 
scratched.  As  Professor  Fuller,  the 
world's  greatest  character  reader,  used 
to  say,  Warrior  was  short  on  Destruc- 
tiveness  and  Combativeness  and  long 
on  Benevolence,  Philopropogenitativeness 
and  Amatativeness.  The  only  reason 
we  didn  't  let  him  wander  as  he  listed 
between  performances  was  because  we  'd 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED  7 

have  had  to  be  kicking  him  out  of  our 
way  all  the  time  —  he  was  just  that 
demonstrative.  When  a  lion  rubs  his 
head  up  against  your  leg,  you  're  obliged 
to  forget  business  detail  and  turn  your 
attention  to  the  softer  emotions.  The 
Untamed  was  born  with  the  circus  — 
heaven  knows  how  many  years  ago  he 
drew  his  six  columns  as  the  only  lion 
cub  ever  born  in  captivity.  Sometimes, 
when  we  were  rubbing  his  chin  and 
scratching  his  ears,  we  used  to  say  that 
if  we  turned  him  loose  in  his  ancestral 
jungles  he  'd  die  of  loneliness  and  fright 
—  unless  he  crawled  to  the  humble  cot 
of  some  native,  and  snuggled  up  against 
the  babies,  and  died  of  misunderstanding. 
It  was  speculating  upon  these  traits  of 
the  Untamed  that  gave  me  my  idea.  A 
lion  balloon  ascension  and  parachute 
jump! 


8  WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

I  did  n't  intend  to  hoist  old  Warrior, 
you  understand.  What  I  had  in  my 
mind  was  a  fake.  Announce  it;  adver- 
tise it.  When  the  balloon  is  full  and 
Professor  Altair  comes  out  in  his  spangled 
tights,  bring  up  Warrior,  the  Untamed, 
in  his  cage.  Have  Professor  Altair  dis- 
play the  net  in  which  he  is  going  to  confine 
Warrior  during  their  perilous  leap  for 
life.  To  prove  that  there  is  no  intention 
to  deceive,  get  the  Untamed  into  the  net. 

Pad-a-pad-a-pad-a-pad !  Whoa !  Who 
is  that  who  bursts  through  the  crowd 
and  cries,  "Stop,  I  shall  not  let  this 
wild  beast  out  among  the  little  children!" 
It  is  none  other  than  Police  Captain 
Donlin  of  our  district,  who  is  drawing 
his  bit  from  us  every  month  and  is  glad 
to  do  a  little  favour  for  his  friends. 
Then  the  megaphone  man  announces 
that  the  lion  ascension  has  to  be  post- 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED  9 

poned  because  the  police  are  prejudiced, 
but  Professor  Alt  air  will  make  a  double 
parachute  jump,  a  feat  never  before 
attempted.  The  papers  would  have  to 
print  that  story,  I  figured,  because  there 
would  be  a  police  report  on  it,  and  be- 
cause the  joke  would  seem  to  be  on  us. 

That  was  the  way  I  planned  and 
programmed  it;  and  after  a  brief  descrip- 
tion of  some  of  my  obstacles,  I  '11  tell 
you  just  how  it  did  n't  turn  out. 

First,  I  knew,  I  had  to  square  it  with 
Hattie  Russell;  and  that  was  some  job. 
Hattie  was  the  wife  of  Pete  Russell,  the 
lion  tamer  —  or,  rather,  Pete  was  the 
husband  of  Hattie.  Pete  was  really  a 
brave  man.  He  tamed  lions  and  he 
married  Hattie.  You  've  heard  the  circus 
story  about  the  lion  tamer  who  came 
home  drunk  and  looked  at  the  bedroom 
door  and  shook  his  head  and  went  down 


10         WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

to  the  cages  and  fell  asleep  among  the 
lions  and  his  wife  found  him  there  next 
morning  and  shook  the  bars  and  hissed, 
"Coward!"  Well,  in  the  business,  they 
say  that  was  Pete  and  Hattie.  The 
order  of  Pete's  terrors  were  first  Hattie, 
and  afterward  all  the  wild  beasts  that 
were  ever  whelped.  Hattie  used  to  be 
Zora  Zuleika,  Queen  of  the  Sawdust 
Ring.  She  drove  High  School  horses. 
Then  she  annexed  Pete,  and  afterward 
she  drove  horses  and  Pete.  At  the  time 
when  our  story  opens  she  's  a  noticeable 
lady,  built  in  terraces  from  her  chin  to 
her  ankles.  As  for  Pete,  he  's  a  mild- 
eyed  and  domestic  cuss  built  on  the  plan 
of  a  sliver;  and  he  looks  beside  her  like 
her  big  boy  doll. 

Hattie  had  one  prevailing  bug  just 
about  this  time;  and  that  was  Warrior, 
the  Untamed.  She  and  Warrior  were 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED         11 

the  oldest  chums  about  our  show ;  they  'd 
trouped  together  for  fifteen  years.  The 
season  before,  she  'd  saved  all  her  pen- 
nies to  get  Warrior's  picture  painted, 
and  poor  Pete  had  to  eat  opposite  that 
three  times  a  day.  Now  she  was  saving 
her  pennies  to  buy  a  home  in  Virginia 
where  Warrior,  the  Untamed,  could  pass 
his  last  days  in  peace.  She  never  seemed 
to  consider  Pete's  last  days,  except  to 
inform  him  now  and  then  that  his  'n 
would  come  prematurely  if  anything 
happened  to  that  beast  on  account  of 
his  fancy  stunts. 

It  was  my  first  idea  to  approach  Hattie 
through  Pete.  But  Pete,  the  craven, 
turns  his  back  on  two  vicious  leopards 
that  he  's  working  when  I  pass  the  prop- 
osition to  him,  and  says:  "Say,  Billie, 
would  you  kiss  a  buzz-saw  just  because 
a  friend  wanted  to  see  a  little  sport?" 


12         WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

And  he  turns  careless-like  to  flick  his 
whip  at  the  ear  of  a  leopard  who  has 
just  gathered  himself  for  a  spring  at 
his  neck. 

But  Hattie  was  easy.  She  fell  for 
the  first  trick  I  pulled  from  my  bag. 

"Say,  Hattie,"  says  I,  "I  wish  I 
knew  where  we  could  get  a  good  looking 
lion  with  a  patient  disposition.  I  want 
to  pull  off  a  stunt !" 

"Good  looking!"  says  Hattie;  "well, 
I  'd  like  to  know  where  you  '11  get  a 
better  looking  lion  than  Warrior.  And 

as  for  his  disposition  "  For  the 

sake  of  what  was  coming,  I  listened  to 
Warrior's  disposition. 

"But  Hattie!"  said  I,  "'t  was  always 
my  idea  that  you  wanted  to  keep  Warrior 
out  of  the  public  eye." 

"That 's  Pete!"  snapped  Hattie.  "The 
man 's  got  the  notion  that  Warrior 


WARRIOR.  THE  UNTAMED          13 

ain't  more  'n  half  bright.  The  idea! 
Why  the  old  beastie  understands  every 
word  I  say.  I  know  what 's  the  matter 
with  Pete.  It 's  jealousy,  that 's  what  it 
is!  And  let  me  tell  you,  he  's  got  good 
cause  to  be  jealous!" 

And  before  I  got  through  with  Hattie 
you  could  n't  separate  her  with  dynamite 
from  the  idea  of  a  public  appearance 
for  Warrior,  the  Untamed.  In  the  next 
week,  she  did  everything  but  manicure 
him. 

"But  remember,"  said  Hattie  when- 
ever we  got  on  the  subject,  "that  lion 
don't  go  up  in  that  parachute!" 

"Sure!"  I  said;  "nothing  like  that." 

These  words  were  recalled  to  me  later 
with  additions  both  searching  and  cruel. 

The  day  came.  We  drew  our  crowd. 
We  marched  two  bands  through  the  con- 
cessions at  five  o'clock  to  herd  the 


14          WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

populace  into  Balloon  Park.  We  filled 
the  balloon  amid  loud  cheers,  and  we 
got  old  Warrior,  the  Man-eater  —  he 
moved  like  a  clock  in  order,  he  'd  got 
so  used  to  hiking  from  cage  to  cage 
when  the  show  was  on  the  road  —  into 
his  net.  Finding  himself  comfortable, 
and  liking  the  balloon  fire,  which  was 
warming  up  his  old  bones,  Warrior,  the 
Untamed,  settled  down  for  a  nap. 

We  hitched  the  net  to  the  parachute 
and  waited  for  Captain  Donlin.  He 
was  not  there.  The  balloon  filled  and 
puffed  up  until  the  volunteers  who  were 
holding  it  had  to  hang  on  by  their  toes. 
The  crowd  began  to  howl  for  action. 
Professor  Altair  went  around  in  his 
spangled  tights  testing  the  ropes  and 
bluffing  at  making  sure  that  all  was 
well.  Still  no  Captain  Donlin.  I  hur- 
ried Pete  into  an  auto,  and  sent  him  to 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED          15 

find  what  the  blazes When  he  got 

back  the  crowd  was  rioting.  They'  d 
had  to  rig  lines  on  the  balloon  to  save 
the  arms  of  the  volunteers. 

"All  off!"  says  Pete.  "There's  a 
Black  Hand  murder  on,  and  Captain 
Donlin  has  lit  out  with  the  reserves!" 

"Couldn't  you  get  the  sergeant?" 
says  I. 

"Swears  he  don't  know  nothing  about 
it  and  won't  take  money,"  says  Pete. 

"Well,  this  sure  is  Boston!"  says  I. 

Right  here  the  crowd  set  up  a  howl 
that  shook  the  luminous  ether  and  woke 
the  Untamed  from  his  nap. 

And  I  saw  that  we  'd  have  to  hoist 
that  lion  or  bust. 

I  took  one  sneaky  look  around  for 
Hattie.  She  was  standing  on  the  steps 
of  the  Persian  Village  all  gussied  up  in 
a  purple  dress  and  a  new  hat  and  white 


16         WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

gloves  —  she  was  out  to  see  her  Warrior's 
public  triumph.  And  oh,  she  seen  it!  I 
figured  that  she  could  n't  reach  me 
through  the  crowd  in  time  to  stop  pro- 
ceedings; and  I  made  for  Professor  Altair 
with  my  proposition.  The  fact  that  I 
dared  propose  it  with  Hattie's  eye  on 
me  shows  how  desperate  I  was. 

Professor  Altair  was  a  reckless  person. 
He  said  that  the  parachute  was  strong 
enough  to  hold  them  both,  and  he  'd 
rather  take  chances  of  being  dropped 
or  clawed  by  a  lion  than  face  the  cer- 
tainty of  being  lynched  in  his  own 
balloon.  And  before  the  crowd  or  even 
Pete  knew  what  we  were  doing,  the 
Professor  had  yelled,  "Cut  off!"  and  the 
balloon  had  jumped  up,  and  Warrior, 
the  Untamed,  was  two  hundred  feet  in 
the  air  and  going  some.  And  over  the 
crowd  came  one  of  those  feminine  shrieks 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED          17 

you  read  about;  and  out  of  the  tail  of 
my  eye  I  got  a  glimpse  of  a  little  man  in 
red  trousers  and  a  frogged  green  jacket 
climbing  the  fence  which  divided  Para- 
dise Park  from  the  wide,  wide  world. 
It  was  Pete  —  beating  it. 

I  guess  Warrior  was  about  four  hundred 
feet  up  before  he  got  wide  awake  and 
realized  that  there  was  no  precedent  for 
a  lion  being  in  such  a  spot.  The  first 
sign  we  had  of  the  injury  to  his  finer  feel- 
ings was  when  one  of  his  poor  old  paws 
came  poking  through  the  net  just  stiff 
with  terror.  Then  out  came  another 
paw  and  then  another,  until  he  's  just  a 
little  bundle  of  yellow,  trimmed  with  the 
four  scaredest  legs  you  ever  saw.  The 
crowd  was  in  the  breathless  stage;  and 
we  could  hear  the  Untamed  begin  to 
bellow.  Of  course,  being  a  lion,  he  had 
only  one  note  in  his  voice  to  express  all 


18          WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

his  emotions.  These  bellows  of  his  were 
a  man-eating,  child-destroying  roar.  The 
megaphone  man  caught  his  cue  quickly. 

"Perceive,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said 
he,  "the  awful  position  of  the  dar- 
ing aeronaut.  Soul  and  body  hanging 
between  heaven  and  earth,  the  perils  of 
the  bright  empyrean  above  and  a  man- 
eating  lion,  angered  by  this  unaccustomed 
affront  to  his  royal  dignity,  raging  below. 
Yet  have  no  fear;  he  is  secure  in  the  net, 
and  we  have  made  arrangements  to  secure 
the  mad  king  of  beasts  immediately  upon 
his  arrival  on  terra  firma.  Observe  the 
daring  aeronaut.  He  is  about  to  cut  off ! ' ' 

He  was.  The  balloon  had  n't  been 
going  well  under  the  extra  weight.  It  had 
started  to  dip.  The  Professor  made  his 
cut. 

You  know  that  first  drop  of  the  para- 
chute before  it  fills  —  how  it  takes  the 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED  19 

gimp  from  the  oldest  balloon  man.  The 
load  was  so  heavy  that  this  one  made  a 
long  drop.  My  heart  jumped  as  though 
I  was  a  Rube  seeing  my  first  ascension. 
But  the  parachute  opened  at  last.  And 
then  my  heart  did  jump  for  fair  and  keep 
on  jumping. 

The  Untamed  had  woke  from  his  trance 
of  terror.  He  was  chewing  his  way  out 
of  the  net! 

I  remember  Hattie,  who  'd  clawed  her 
way  to  me  through  the  crowd,  hanging 
around  my  neck,  yelling,  "Get  back, 
Warrior!"  as  if  he  could  hear  her  away 
up  there.  And  all  the  while  I  was  watch- 
ing Warrior's  nose  come  out  through  the 
hole  he  had  mumbled  with  his  jaws, 
and  his  tail  poke  through  the  other  hole 
he  had  clawed  with  his  hindlegs.  Then 
I  saw  his  whiskers  follow  his  nose,  and 
afterward  his  mane.  The  parachute 


20          WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

struck  a  spot  of  light  air,  took  a  sudden 
dip,  and  brought  up  about  twenty  feet 
from  the  ground;  and  Warrior,  scramb- 
ling like  a  cat  in  the  fly-paper  and  roaring 
like  an  express  train,  came  out  of  the  net 
and  spilled  through  the  air  and  lit,  spread 
out  all  on  fours. 

He  did  n't  exactly  seem  to  light,  either. 
He  was  away  too  quick.  Just  bing! 
and  his  feet  struck  the  ground  —  zip  — 
and  he  was  a  yellow  streak  going  over  the 
hill,  his  old,  frazzled  tail  sticking  up  in 
the  air  and  his  feet  kicking  dust  in  the 
only  run  he  'd  ever  enjoyed  in  his  life. 
I  don't  suppose  he  had  any  idea  where  he 
was  going.  All  he  wanted  was  to  put 
space  between  himself  and  a  humanity 
that  had  betrayed  his  confidence.  He 
sure  was  putting  space  between  himself 
and  the  desperate  little  man  in  a  green 
jacket  and  red  trousers  who  went  legging 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED          21 

it  after  him.  They  turned  into  the  Zion 
road.  I  saw  an  automobile  just  rear  up 
on  its  hind  legs  and  pause  there,  spinning 
its  front  wheels  and  shooting  gasolene. 
Then  the  yellow  streak  went  over  the 
summit.  The  red  and  green  one  was  still 
busy  behind.  It  was  hard  to  say  whether 
Warrior  in  front  or  Hattie  behind  had  the 
more  to  do  with  Pete's  speed.  Later  we 
heard  Pete's  troubles  in  fiery  detail  from 
Hattie;  but  for  the  rest  of  Warrior's 
troubles  that  I  'm  telling  you  about,  I  have 
to  depend  on  general  information  and 
belief. 

He  struck  straight  down  the  Zion  road. 
It  was  a  fine,  peaceful  Sunday  afternoon 
—  an  automobile  every  hundred  feet, 
traps  and  top  buggies  sprinkled  between, 
lollygagging  couples  sparking  along  the 
sidewalks,  the  Dutch  consuming  beer 
on  the  piazzas.  The  first  vehicle  that 


22          WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

met  him  after  he  cleared  the  hill  was  a 
top  buggy.  The  horse  gave  three  snorts 
and  a  jump  and  brought  up  with  his 
forefeet  in  an  automobile  which  pulled 
up  suddenly  just  behind.  The  yap  who 
was  driving  out  his  best  girl  went  straight 
over  the  dashboard  into  the  tonneau, 
thus  forcing  on  our  best  families  a  person 
who  had  never  been  properly  intro- 
duced. The  Untamed,  finding  his  way 
blocked,  took  a  running  jump,  cleared 
the  mix-up,  and  brought  up  in  front  of 
a  piazza  that  was  just  beery  with  the 
Dutch.  The  Dutch  went  under  the 
tables  as  if  Jesse  James  and  guns  had 
appeared  in  the  door  —  all  but  one  little 
girl.  Forgotten  and  neglected,  she  sat 
on  top  of  a  table  and  looked  over  the 
railing  at  Warrior,  who  'd  stopped  to 
plan  his  future  course,  and  said,  "Nice 
doggie!"  The  Untamed  considered  this 


-§ 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED          23 

proposition.  Children  had  always  been 
kind  to  him.  They  'd  poked  him  un- 
eatable peanuts  through  the  bars  of  the 
cage  and  taught  him  to  like  peppermints, 
and  I  guess  he  figured  that  he  could 
exempt  this  one  from  the  temporary 
general  sour  he  had  on  humanity. 

But  while  he  's  sidling  up  to  the  little 
girl,  presenting  his  ear  to  be  scratched, 
a  waiter  pokes  his  head  out  of  an  up- 
stairs window  and  begins  to  endanger 
the  surrounding  houses  with  a  .22  re- 
volver. If  there  was  one  thing  more 
than  another  that  made  Warrior,  the 
Untamed,  nervous,  it  was  the  sound  of 
a  gun.  Away  back  in  his  cub  days 
they  'd  tried  to  train  him,  and  given 
him  up,  he  was  so  good-natured  and 
stupid.  He  learned  then  that  whenever 
he  got  mixed  up  in  his  mind,  one  of  those 
things  was  liable  to  go  off  in  his  face. 


24          WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

Warrior  swoops  around  with  one  last, 
reproachful  look  at  the  little  girl,  who 
is  just  being  hauled  under  the  table  by 
her  aunt,  and  streaks  it,  and  loses  himself 
in  the  woods. 

According  to  the  newspapers  Warrior, 
the  Untamed,  spent  that  night  in  twelve 
different  places,  scattered  over  an  area 
of  fifty  square  miles.  I  don't  know 
which  of  them  it  was,  if  it  was  any  of 
them;  but  when  he  made  his  really 
authenticated  appearance  he  seemed  to  be 
agitated  by  twin  yearnings  —  a  desire 
for  human  sympathy,  and  a  burning 
necessity  for  beef  gruel. 

Sin-Killer  Gilbert,  the  shouting  re- 
vivalist from  Georgia,  was  starting  a 
week  of  services  in  the  First  African 
Church  at  Waremouth.  All  the  dark 
population  from  Cape  Cod  and  environs 
was  present.  Sin-Killer  had  them  going 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED          25 

fine;  the  shouts  and  songs  floated  out  to 
the  bushes  where  Warrior,  hungry  and 
misunderstood,  was  planning  his  nightly 
foray  for  sympathy  and  beef  gruel.  If 
I  wanted  to  touch  up  this  story  I  'd  stop 
here  to  describe  the  ancestral  memories 
of  primeval  tropic  jungles  which  those 
rich  African  voices  woke  in  Warrior's 
bosom.  Anyhow,  he  did  come  out  of 
the  bushes,  as  his  track  showed,  and 
investigate  the  First  African  Church. 

Sin-Killer  Gilbert  was  exhorting  on 
the  scenery  of  hell.  He  had  told  about 
hell  fires  that  burn  clear  through  you, 
and  hell  snakes  that  crawl  over  your 
bare,  black  body,  and  was  touching  in 
passing  on  hell  beasts  with  poison  fangs 
that  bite  your  bones.  And  right  in  the 
middle  of  his  climax,  when  he  had  both 
hands  raised  up  in  the  air  ready  to 
swoop  them  down  to  the  platform,  he 


26         WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

stopped  and  fixed  his  eyes  and  turned 
a  pale  green.  Then  he  sank  to  the  floor 
and  crawled  under  the  pulpit,  howling, 
"Not  yet,  Marse  Gabriel;  not  yet!" 

The  congregation  followed  his  eyes. 
Warrior  was  peeking  into  the  front 
window.  When  he  saw  that  he  was 
attracting  human  attention,  he  opened 
his  mouth  for  a  glad  roar. 

They  did  n't  leave  a  window-pane 
or  a  window-sash  in  the  sides  or  rear 
of  the  First  African  Church.  It  rained 
coons.  One  of  the  bucks  had  brought 
along  his  gun  for  social  purposes.  He 
cut  into  the  bushes  and  turned  loose 
at  the  poor  old  Untamed,  who  was 
slinking  away  a  lot  hurt  at  the  loath- 
ing he  inspired.  The  shooting  finished 
his  disgust;  he  crawled  back  to  the 
woods  and  lost  himself  in  loneliness  and 
hunger. 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED          27 

The  next  morning  we  heard  from 
Warrior  at  Satuit.  That 's  a  nice,  quiet 
little  town  on  the  South  Shore,  half 
native  granger,  half  summer  visitor.  They 
call  it  the  grandest  place  for  a  rest  between 
Provincetown  and  Boston.  Perhaps 
that 's  why  Warrior,  the  Untamed,  shiver- 
ing on  the  verge  of  an  emotional  break- 
down, picked  out  Satuit.  He  seemed  to 
linger  there  quite  a  while.  First  he 
visited  the  beach  at  high  tide.  All  the 
summer  folks  were  out;  the  children 
were  paddling  about  the  surf,  digging 
sand,  or  playing  with  the  dogs;  the  boys 
were  frolicking  on  the  raft;  the  women 
were  reading  under  sun  umbrellas.  War- 
rior walked  out  on  to  the  cliff  and 
surveyed  the  scene.  It  called  up  dear 
recollections,  I  guess,  of  the  beach  at 
Paradise  Park  which  he  could  n't  seem  to 
find.  WTien  Satuit  Beach  first  perceives 


28          WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

the  Untamed,  he  's  coming  down  the  cliff 
road  in  quick,  glad  leaps. 

People  who  had  loathed  the  water  all 
their  lives  began  to  yearn  for  it.  People 
who  swam  six  strokes  became  Danielses 
and  Annette  Kellermans.  People  who 
dassen  't  go  out  above  their  heads  struck 
straight  for  the  coast  of  Spain.  The 
whole  of  Satuit  Beach  dove  together  as 
though  the  starting  gun  had  just  gone 
off.  And  the  Untamed,  staring  across 
the  water  and  making  quick  side-steps 
to  avoid  wetting  his  feet,  perceived  that 
he  was  still  a  pariah.  To  express  his 
grief  and  disappointment  he  roared  a 
loud  roar  and  trotted  away. 

The  road  from  the  beach  runs  to 
Satuit  Harbour,  the  shopping  district  of 
that  thriving  little  metropolis.  Warrior, 
who  had  slowed  down  to  a  walk,  emerged 
with  considerable  dignity  on  to  the  street. 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED          29 

His  appearance  made  its  customary  hit. 
Horses  pulled  up  their  hitching-posts 
and  went  away  from  that  place.  Old 
ladies  climbed  fences,  old  gentlemen 
went  up  telegraph  poles  like  cats.  Doors 
flew  shut,  and  windows  flew  open.  War- 
rior, the  Untamed,  was  monarch  of 
untrodden  wastes  again. 

The  first  place  Warrior  broke  into 
and  entered  was  Steiner's  notion  and 
confectionery  store.  No  beef  gruel  within 
smell;  but  his  nose  did  catch  the  scent 
of  chocolate  peppermints,  which  the 
children  had  taught  him  to  like  as  a  cat 
likes  catnip.  Warrior  jumped  on  the 
showcase  with  both  front  feet,  broke  it, 
and  licked  up  a  box  of  peppermints 
from  the  wreckage.  That  was  putting 
dessert  before  soup,  but  it  must  have 
instilled  some  energy  into  his  poor  old 
bones;  for  as  he  came  out  on  the  street 


30          WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

he  was  letting  loose  roars  of  satisfaction 
which  scattered  the  rallying  populace 
again.  A  butcher  wagon  had  just  run 
away.  The  front  wheels  had  collided 
with  a  milestone,  scattering  meat  in  every 
direction,  and  a  fresh  side  of  beef  lay  out 
there  in  the  dust.  Warrior  took  that 
for  a  good  sign.  Sides  of  beef  meant  to 
his  simple  mind  the  appetizer  to  beef 
gruel.  He  grabbed  it  and  settled  himself 
for  a  good  time. 

Jim  Nickerson,  the  village  beau  and 
bowling  champion,  had  a  new  high- 
power  gun  which  he  employed  to  scare 
deer  on  his  vacation  up  in  Maine.  Jim 
got  his  gun  and  sneaked  from  the  back 
door  of  Perkins's  general  store,  where 
he  's  employed  to  crank  the  soda  foun- 
tain, and  up  to  Odd  Fellows'  Hall  on  the 
third  floor.  Carefully  bolting  all  the 
doors,  he  took  a  rest  on  the  window-sill, 


"  Old  gentlemen  went  up  telegraph  poles  like  cats 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED          31 

drew  a  bead  on  the  Untamed,  and  shat- 
tered the  figurehead  over  Captain  Ander- 
son's door  across  the  street.  Warrior's 
frazzled  nerves  went  back  on  him  again. 
He  dropped  the  side  of  beef  and  loped 
on  down  the  deserted  road. 

Half  a  mile  from  Satuit  Harbour  is  the 
Miles  Standish  Inn,  a  cross  between  a 
hotel  and  a  sanitarium.  That  peaceful 
morning  the  old  ladies  and  neurasthenics 
sat  on  the  piazza  playing  bridge  whist 
and  crocheting  and  gossiping  about  the 
raging  lion  which  was  loose  in  all  the 
newspapers.  One  of  them  looked  up, 
and  perceived  that  the  lion  was  in  their 
midst.  Business  of  dropped  crocheting 
and  scattered  cards  and  waitresses  drag- 
ging fainting  old  ladies  up  to  the  second 
floor,  and  an  heroic  proprietor  building  a 
barricade  of  bureaus  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs.  The  Untamed  trotted  indoors 


32          WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

after  them,  inspected  the  baby  grand 
piano,  licked  off  some  of  the  shellac, 
decided  that  it  was  neither  appetizing 
nor  sustaining,  and  crawled  toward  the 
kitchen.  His  face  must  have  lit  up  at 
that  point,  and  I  know  that  he  let  out  a 
roar  of  joy  which  set  the  hysterics  cackling 
upstairs  like  a  string  of  firecrackers. 

He  'd  smelled  beef  broth. 

Warrior  bounded  into  the  kitchen. 
There  it  was,  on  the  floor  behind  the 
stove  —  a  whole  kettle  of  soup  stock. 
He  poked  off  the  lid  with  his  nose 
and  settled  down  to  business. 

While  the  Untamed  is  licking  out 
the  pot,  let  us  return  to  our  hero.  The 
first  day  I  drew  sixteen  columns  of  space 
in  Boston  territory,  and  dozens  more 
from  the  Associated  Press  —  name  of 
the  park  in  every  story.  The  second 
day  it  ran  up  to  a  cool  twenty-seven.  By 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED          33 

Tuesday  morning  every  man,  woman 
and  child  in  Greater  Boston  and  vicinity 
knew  that  Paradise  Park  was  on  earth 
and  doing  business.  At  the  first  blush 
I  nearly  lost  my  job.  The  boss  said 
that  women  and  children  would  be  afraid 
to  come  to  a  resort  where  wild  animals 
broke  loose.  But  on  Monday  —  Mon- 
day, mind  you,  pretty  nearly  the  poorest 
day  of  the  week  for  an  amusement  park 
—  we  took  more  paid  admissions  than 
we  'd  taken  on  any  Saturday  since  we 
started  up.  People  laid  off  from  their 
work  to  see  the  cage  where  Warrior,  the 
Untamed,  had  been  confined.  You  never 
know  how  it  will  jump  with  the  public. 

Every  country  correspondent  in  New 
England  was  my  assistant  press  agent. 
Citizens  were  forming  posses  all  along  the 
shore;  they  were  calling  on  the  Governor 
for  militia;  they  were  postponing  social 


34          WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

events  because  they  were  afraid  to  go 
out  after  dark;  farmers  ploughed  with  the 
musket  of  Bunker  Hill  beside  them  in 
the  furrow,  like  they  expected  Paul  Revere 
any  minute.  And  every  noise  they  made 
was  a  shout  for  Paradise  Park. 

Of  course,  you  understand  that  it 
was  n't  my  play  to  find  Warrior  until  the 
story  of  his  escape  began  to  run  down. 
Wednesday  morning  I  found  I  'd  drawn 
only  seven  columns;  it  was  time  to  get 
busy  with  a  follow-up.  The  question 
was :  had  I  better  find  Warrior  or  had  I 
better  let  the  story  run  a  day  or  two 
more  ?  So  far  as  I  was  concerned,  I  had 
my  private  feelings ;  I  liked  Warrior,  and 
I  feared  that  he  might  meet  someone  who 
could  shoot  straight.  He  was  n't  worth 
more  than  six  hundred  dollars  and  he  'd 
given  us  six  thousand  in  advertising,  but 
there  were  my  finer  instincts.  Of  course, 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED          35 

that 's  leaving  out  Hattie,  which  is  a  long 
sad  story  with  tremulo  music  on  the  G 
string. 

I  suppose  there  comes  one  time  in  every 
man's  life  when  he  hears  from  fair  lips 
what  a  low,  crawling  creature  he  is. 
Hattie's  was  those  lips.  She  informed  me 
officially  that  after  I  found  Warrior  she  'd 
never  look  into  my  hated  face  again. 
There  was  only  one  other  reptile  she 
esteemed  less;  and  he  was  telephoning 
to  me  every  six  hours  for  a  weather  report. 
Pete  said  he  'd  found  a  friend  who  had 
lent  him  a  citizen's  outfit,  and  he  had 
five  dollars  on  him;  when  could  I  send 
him  more  ? 

"Have  you  seen  Warrior?"  I'd  begin 
and  "How  about  Hattie?"  he'd  end. 
And  at  that  point  I  'd  ring  off  reassuringly. 
I  got  up  the  nerve  to  inform  Hattie  that 
I  'd  heard  from  Pete.  She  said: 


36         WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

"You  tell  him  next  time  he  phones  that 
if  Warrior  ain't  found,  this  continent  ain't 
large  enough  to  hold  the  two  of  us!" 

When,  on  her  casual  visits  to  inquire 
for  news  of  Warrior  and  to  air  her  opinions 
of  men  as  a  class  and  Pete  and  me  as 
specimens,  Hattie's  line  of  talk  ran  down 
a  little,  I  'd  console  her  by  picturing  the 
ceremony  which  would  take  place  when 
we  found  Warrior.  I  'd  planned  to  buy 
off  the  captors  and  make  it  out  that  we  'd 
found  him  ourselves  after  the  whole  South 
Shore  had  failed.  I  offered  to  let  her 
make  the  capture  —  bring  him  back  in 
an  automobile  —  photographs  at  the  gate 
of  the  Park  with  Warrior  in  Hattie's 
embrace.  That  mollified  her  some.  But 
when  I  went  further  and  said  that  I  was 
thinking  of  making  a  mystery  story  of 
Pete's  disappearance  I  touched  off  the 
human  hornet's  nest  again. 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED          37 

"That  mutt!"  says  she.  "Have  him 
dividing  notices  with  my  oF  petty  lamb!" 

And  right  there  the  Untamed  clean 
disappeared  from  the  face  of  Nature. 
For  thirty-six  hours  after  he  loped  away 
from  the  Miles  Standish  Inn,  he  was  lost 
to  view  and  report.  Not  even  a  country 
correspondent  broke  the  spell.  I  was 
afraid  that  he  might  have  died  of  loneli- 
ness and  exposure,  and  that  the  story 
would  peter  out.  I  tried  to  stimulate 
interest  by  offering  a  reward  of  a  hundred 
dollars  for  information  leading  to  his 
capture,  alive.  I  wanted  to  add  "or 
dead"  but  the  grieved,  sad  face  of  Hattie 
Russell  came  between  me  and  them 
words,  and  I  gazed  apprehensively  over 
my  shoulder  as  I  wrote. 

Thursday  afternoon  I  was  sitting  alone 
in  the  old  man's  office  speculating  on  the 


38          WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

disappearance  of  Warrior  and  holding  a 
ratification  meeting  with  myself  over 
the  increased  attendance,  when  a  Cardiff 
giant  of  an  old  girl  blew  into  the  office. 
Fifty,  if  she  was  a  day,  but  straight  as  an 
arrow,  nose  like  the  prow  of  a  ship,  and 
eyes  —  when  she  turned  those  spectacles 
on  you  it  was  like  you  were  facing  an 
automobile  searchlight. 

"Be  you  the  man  that's  running  this 
circus?"  she  asked. 

I  said  I  was,  and  I  came  pretty  near  tell- 
ing the  truth. 

"Waal,  I  guess  I  've  got  a  lion  up  in  my 
house  that  belongs  to  you,"  said  she. 
"You  see,  I  caught  him  day  before  yester- 
day, and  I  s'pose  I  should  have  come 
down  here  before  this.  But  I  'd  been 
beach-plummin'  an'  I  'd  got  to  make 
jelly  right  then  or  those  berries  would 
just  rot  on  my  hands.  As  it  was,  I 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED          39 

thought  they  never  would  jell,  with 
me  runnin'  to  the  barn  every  other  minute 
takin'  all  kinds  of  soft  vittles  to  that  lion. 
Say,  he  ain't  real  well,  is  he  ?  If  those 
plums  had  n't  a  jelled  it  would  have  cost 
you  a  pretty  penny,  though." 

She  stopped  here  for  breath,  and  I  dove 
up  to  the  surface. 

"  Yes'm,"  said  I.  "  How  did  you  hap- 
pen to  catch  him  ?" 

"  Waal,  I  '11  tell  you.  You  see,  I  live  by 
myself,  on  a  little  back  road,  just  a  piece 
from  Satuit.  Kind  of  lonesome  place, 
but  I  hate  folks  callin'  an'  mussin'  up  my 
house.  Tuesday  mornin'  I  was  out 
sweepin'  the  walk.  Fur 's  I  knew,  there 
wa'n't  a  soul  in  sight.  All  of  a  sudden  I 
heard  the  beatin'est  catouse  back  of  me. 
I  looked  around.  There  was  that  lion  of 
yours  layin'  in  my  hollyhocks.  Waal,  if  I 
wa'n't  mad!  Them  hollyhocks  that  I  've 


40          WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

fussed  over  every  minute  of  this  summer! 
I  'd  read  in  the  newspapers  about  a  lion 
bein'  loose,  but  land!  I  don't  believe  half 
I  read  in  the  newspapers,  or  a  quarter. 
Wa'n't  it  just  my  luck  havin'  that  beast 
pick  my  hollyhocks  to  lay  down  on? 
'  Scat/  I  says.  '  Git  out  of  here ! '  Waal, 
he  did  n't  make  no  move  to  obey  me  — 
just  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  at  me. 
Mild  sort  of  a  beast,  ain't  he  ?  But  my 
dander  was  up.  I  walked  over  to  him 
and  cuffed  him  good  over  the  ears  with 
my  broom.  '  You  git  up  off  them  flowers, 
you  lazy  beast!'  I  says  to  him.  He 
walked  kinder  skywollopin',  right  toward 
my  barn.  The  horse  was  out  to  pasture 
and  the  door  was  wide  open  to  air.  He 
went  straight  in.  I  closed  the  door  after 
him  an'  left  him  there.  He  howled  a  little 
—  irritated,  I  s'pose.  I  never  did  see 
such  a  noisy  critter! 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED          41 

"Waal,  I  finished  my  sweepin'  an'  put 
my  jelly  on  to  bile  an'  then  the  thought 
came  to  me  that  the  poor  beast  must  be 
hungry.  I  tell  you,  I  've  cooked  for 
twenty-five  years,  but  I  never  met  any- 
thin'  so  pernickity  before.  Good  beans 
and  brown  bread  he  would  n't  touch,  nor 
fishballs  nor  doughnuts,  but  my  lands, 
how  he  took  to  my  blueberry  pies!  He 
was  so  grateful  I  gave  him  a  whole  three. 
You  should  have  seen  what  his  whiskers 
looked  like  when  he  got  through.  Put 
both  feet  in  the  dish  and  broke  my  best 
platter.  You  '11  hear  from  that  later. 
But,  when  all  's  said  and  done,  he  liked 
my  Irish  stew  best  of  everything.  He 
just  lopped  it  up. 

"This  mornin'  I  red  the  house  up  a 
little  and  fixed  up  a  lunch  for  him  — 
a  bucket  of  Irish  stew  and  a  dishpan  of 
stewed  blueberries  —  the  poor  beast  did 


42          WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

seem  to  like  'em  so !  —  an'  I  saw  your 
piece  in  the  paper  advertisin'  for  him, 
an'  first  I  thought  I  'd  write,  an'  then 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  come  right 
down  here  an'  tell  you  myself.  I  don't 
trust  the  mails  more  'n  I  do  the  news- 
papers." 

I  'd  been  sitting  there  in  a  trance, 
just  looking  at  her.  Then  a  grand  idea 
struck  me  —  I  was  full  of  them  in  those 
days. 

"I  suppose  you  know  there  is  a  reward 
coming  to  you,"  said  I. 

"I  guess  the  Tuckers  ain't  got  down 
so  low  they  '11  take  a  reward  for  givin' 
folks  back  their  own  property!"  said  she. 

I  sprang  my  idea. 

"I  '11  do  better  than  a  reward  by 
you.  How  would  you  like  to  come 
down  here  and  exhibit  yourself  as  the 
lady  that  tamed  a  lion  single-handed? 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED          43 

We  '11  give  you  a  hundred  a  week  for 
the  season." 

She  turned  those  automobile  search- 
lights on  me,  and  for  a  minute  I  thought 
she  was  going  to  bite. 

"No,"  she  said  finally;  "I  ain't  good 
at  that  sort  of  thing,  and  never  was. 
The  Tuckers  don't  go  much  on  play- 
actin'.  I  never  could  say  a  piece  in 
school  without  bein'  prompted.  Besides, 
I  don't  want  to  begin  to  wear  them  — 
tights,  I  guess  you  call  them  —  at  my 
time  of  life.  No,  you  settle  my  bill  of 
damages  an'  send  a  wagon  for  your  lion, 
an*  we  '11  just  call  it  a  neighbourly 
favour." 

"Gladly,  madam,"  said  I.  "Will  you 
send  me  your  bill?" 

"Oh,  I've  got  it  right  here."  She 
began  to  read  from  a  paper  which  she 
took  out  of  her  bag.  "To  hollyhocks  a 


44          WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

dollar  and  forty-three  cents  —  that 's  as 
near  as  I  can  cal'ulate.  That 's  allowin' 
for  the  seed,  an'  my  work,  an'  it 's  cheap 
at  the  price.  To  one  lion's  board  and 
lodging  —  I  ain't  chargin'  no  more  than 
the  Miles  Standish  House  charges  — 
a  dollar  and  a  half.  To  three  blueberry 
pies  —  I  got  to  charge  you  extra  for 
them  because  I  'd  promised  them  to 
the  Ladies'  Foreign  Missionary  Fair,  an' 
seein'  that  they  did  n't  git  the  pies  I  've 
got  to  give  'em  the  money  —  seventy-jive 
cents  —  ain't  them  fairs  highway  robbery  ? 
To  one  platter  —  I  bought  it  with  tradin' 
stamps  an'  I  can't  exactly  figure  that  out, 
but  let 's  say  sixty -five  cents.  Then  it 's 
twenty  cents  for  my  fare  from  Satuit  to 
the  Junction  and  twenty  back.  I  ain't 
going  to  charge  you  for  the  trolley  ride, 
I  enjoyed  it  so.  Total,  four  dollars, 
seventy-three.  Oh,  yes!  You  can  give 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED          45 

me  back  the  ten  cents  it  cost  to  git  into 
your   show.     I  didn't   look   at   nuthin'. 
Land   of  goodness,   I  b'lieve   I  '11   miss 
that  beast,  after  all!" 
I  paid  it. 

Only  one  more  scene  remains  before 
we  leave  our  characters  to  their  happiness. 
It  came  off  next  day  in  Hattie's  quarters 
out  back  of  the  lion  cages.  I  'd  dropped 
in  with  my  ears  back  to  see  if  she  'd 
heard  from  Pete  —  he  'd  stopped  tele- 
phoning, and  the  animal  show  needed 
him.  I  found  Hattie  in  her  ring  clothes 
—  make-up,  silk  riding  hat  and  all, 
just  as  she  came  from  her  act  —  teach- 
ing a  new  stitch  in  Irish  crochet  to 
Miss  Tucker.  Through  the  window 
came  a  snore  like  the  purring  of  forty 
thousand  cats.  Warrior  was  sleeping 
it  off. 


46          WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

"  Where  's "  I  began.  Hattie 

threw  a  finger  to  her  lips. 

"Sh-h!"  she  said,  "you  '11  wake  him!" 
Then  she  went  on,  whispering,  in  her 
best  society  manner: 

"Miss  Tucker  came  back  with  him, 
and  she  's  stopping  to  have  lunch  with 
me.  Miss  Tucker  and  I  have  a  great 
common  bond  in  our  love  for  animals." 

Just  then  I  look  over  Hattie's  head 
and  observe  the  back  door  opening 
gradual.  And  by  and  by  in  came 
Pete's  head,  followed,  when  nothing 
violent  happened  to  it,  by  the  rest  of 
Pete.  He  was  wearing  an  old,  misfit 
hand-me-down,  and  he  had  his  red  and 
green  ring  clothes  over  his  arm. 

Hattie's  eyes  followed  mine. 

"Mr.  Russell,"  says  she  to  her  lord 
and  master,  "if  you  have  recovered 
the  first  figment  of  your  manhood, 


WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED          47 

will  you  kindly  go  in  and  beat  the  head 
off  that  black  leopard  ?  He  's  making 
so  much  racket  that  Warrior  can't  get 
any  rest!" 

THE  END 


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WARRIOR,  THE  UNTAMED 

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What  happened  after  Warrior,  the  "  man-eating" 
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